


He Alone Remained

by SunflowerSupreme



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Gen, follow me on this okay, it’s about maglor but the POV is mostly aule, it’s an AU i’ve been thinking of for a while
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-08-23 18:10:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20247115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SunflowerSupreme/pseuds/SunflowerSupreme
Summary: Of the Sons of Feanor, Makalaure alone turned back with the host of Arafinwe. His gift was that of creation, not of destruction, and as such the blood on the pier revolted him.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Alright for the sake of this AU, the oath was sworn after Alqualonde, not in Tirion. 
> 
> Deal with it, it’s an AU. 
> 
> I’m using their Sindarin names (Maglor, Maedhros, etc) for most of it just out of sheer habit.

In the darkness, Kanofinwe had returned to Formenos.

No one was entirely certain how he had done it, or indeed why, but that was what the rumors were saying. He had turned back when his uncle had, but he had not gone with him to Tirion. Instead, he had returned to Formenos.

All the reports said he had barred the windows and doors, not even allowing entrance to Nerdanel when she had sought out her one remaining son. She had told Mahtan of her visit, that she had seen signs of life in the desolate buildings, but there had been no way in. An enchantment had lain over the property, which seemed to deter all but the most determined from reaching the gates. But even those who reached the halls themselves could find no way in.

_‘It was as though the doors had melted into their frames,’_ she had said to her father. _‘I cannot say if they truly did or if it was an illusion crafted by his song.’_ Either way, she had turned back, content in knowing he lived and reported to her father all that she had seen.

Mahtan, in turn, had carried her words to Aulë before he and Nerdanel had gone to Tirion, to offer what help they could to the remaining Noldor.

The smith was not entirely certain what his thoughts on the matter were. He mourned the Noldor, yes, but there was nothing he could have done for them. They had free will by the will of a higher power, he could not take that from them. But he had tried, when they had found Finwe, to reason with Feanor and his sons, as much as he could.

But in the end, they had ignored his words.

Maglor had seemed the most attentive to his words when he had said that the Noldor need not stand alone. Surely Manwe would not allow such an affront, Melkor would be dealt with in time.

“In time,” Feanor had scoffed. “When would that be, wise one?” Only Feanor could call someone wise and make it an insult.

For a moment he had thought the minstrel would say something, anything to protest his father’s words, but Maedhros had stepped forward, placing his hand on Maglor’s shoulder, and he had remained silent.

But something had turned him back, and Maglor had fled from the destruction of Alqualonde back to the place where he had been exiled with his family for all those years.

Perhaps he did not understand that the exile was over. No one had the time nor energy to enforce it, not with the destruction of the Trees and the flight of the Noldor. No one would have stopped him from returning to Tirion or even the halls of Mahtan.

But Aulë suspected he was far more clever than that.

No, if Maglor had returned to Formenos it was of his own volition and not because of a long-forgotten exile.

Then why? Why remain behind and yet alone? 

His wife did not share his curiosity. When pressed on the subject, she had given him a pitying look and whispered, "He is not _Mairon_."

But there were other matters to attend to, other things that needed to be taken care of, and all thoughts of Kanofinwe Feanorian soon slipped to the back of his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you like it?
> 
> This is an AU I've been thinking on for, well, years, but I finally sat down and wrote it. I just wanted to give my two favorite sad children a happy(ish) story for once.


	2. The Fire

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, I’m not going to say Aule has a favorite son of Feanor, but when I role-played as him he definitely loved Maglor most. 
> 
> Maglor is, like Aule, an creator. 
> 
> Aule isn’t just a smith, he’s also known as “The Maker” and I always thought that, even though he prefers smithing himself, he welcomes all artisans into his halls. There’s certainly no Vala of singing or painting, so I imagine he fills that void. 
> 
> Maglor interests him because he’s not a smith. He’s different and creates something Aule doesn’t, but at the same time, he can hold a conversation on smithing with a surprising amount of knowledge.
> 
> I also headcanon that Maglor isn’t terribly interested in smithing because it’s too loud and he doesn’t like the noise (is my Maglor a tiny bit autistic? Maybeeee)
> 
> Also Aulë looks like Nonso Anozie and you cannot change my mind on that fact.

Aulë stood in his forge, although he wasn’t working, merely watching the shadows that the fire flung across the walls.

So much had been destroyed and not only his wife’s most dear creation. All their futures hung in the balance, there was no turning back to the peace they had lost.

But Aulë was a smith. He was not Namo, he did not see the future. He was not all-seeing or all-hearing like Manwë or Varda. He did not desire war or sport in the ways of Tulkas and Orome.

He itched to create.

His creations could not bring back the trees nor the Noldor. He was not of the mood to create weapons of war, no matter how likely an eventual conflict with Melkor seemed.

In fact, standing in the forge, he felt lost. For the first time in many long years, he did not know what to create.

Under his guidance, his most trusted Maiar had begun work on vessels for what little light they had left, to lift them into the sky, but after such a long time planning them, he grew weary of thinking about them.

A disturbance at the door pulled away his attention. One of the few elves who had remained, Minastan, had entered, and when he saw Aulë looking at him he bowed. “My lord.”

Minastan was…. A painter? A playwright? Aulë welcomed all creators to his halls, even those who did not care for smithing, but he couldn’t remember what it was Minastan practiced. Not that it mattered, it wasn’t likely that Minastan was searching him out for his opinion on his newest creation.

And how long had Minastan been standing there? He wasn’t certain. But judging by the elf’s frazzled appearance and actions - most of his apprentices figured out quickly that Aulë didn’t care for titles, and Minastan had been there long enough to know - something must have happened.

“What is it?”

“The kinslay-” he cut himself off as Aulë winced at the moniker. “The Feanorian,” he amended. “He’s here.”

“Kanafinwe? Here?” He had left Formenos? It had been - Aulë wasn’t entirely certain how long it had been since Kanofinwë had begun his solitary exile. Weeks, surely, perhaps even a few months. Long enough that word of Feanor’s death and Maedhros’ had reached them.

His stomach clenched. Did Maglor know? Had he heard the rumors from Arda? Was that why he had come? Was he looking for news?

“Yes, my lord.” Aulë waved away the title, already striding from the room. Behind him, Minastan called, “Formenos burned.”

The smith stopped. “Burned?”

“That is what he said.” Minastan hurried to catch up with him, taking two steps for every one Aulë had. “He said he had nowhere else to go.”

“Stable his horse-”

“He didn’t bring one.”

Again Aulë was caught off guard. “He….. walked?”

How far was it to Formenos? Surely Minastan was wrong. If Maglor had walked - or otherwise traveled - from Formenos, he would have passed straight by Tirion. He would have passed most of Valinor in fact. Any of the Vala would have helped him, even most of the Elda would have.

A kinslayer he may be, but kindness was a fundamental part of life in Valinor.

“Find Curumo.”

Minastan gave him a half bow, then seemed to think better of it, straightening and nodding instead.

Now that he was aware of it, he could feel the disturbance Maglor had created in his halls. The confusion and unease that had come with him. Following that, it would be easy to locate where he had gone.

Elves were not meant to kill one another. They were also not meant to turn up in the darkness, having walked half the length of Valinor.

Stepping out of his forge, Aulë was almost immediately drenched. He spared a glance up at the sky, wondering if the rain was by chance or Manwe’s way of expressing his displeasure at the remaining Feanorian.

Either way, it only seemed to make matters worse.

Curumo found him before he found Maglor, fading into view on the porch, barely out of the rain. Aulë took a moment to dry himself with a thought, then said, “You’ve heard.”

“Your favorite minstrel has returned.”

“I don’t have favorites.”

Curumo raised an eyebrow. He knew better than anyone that Aulë did have his favorites. And that, more often than not, his favorites ended poorly.

“I don’t express favorites,” the smith amended. _Not anymore_, he added silently.

Either Curumo understood his thoughts or he merely didn’t care. Either way, he seemed far more interested in what he had to say. “Formenos was hewn of stone. It would take effort to bring it down.”

“You think he lies?”

“I would like to know if he does.”

It wasn’t exactly the task Aulë had in mind for him, but it would suffice. “Go to Formenos. See what you can discover. On your way, take word to Lady Nerdanel that he is here and safe.”

“Should I bring her with me on my return?”

“No.” If Maglor hadn’t gone to his mother, it was for a reason. He could only hope she understood that.

“It will be done.” With those words, Curumo was gone again, fading into the shadows as though he had never been there.

Aulë stepped inside and was confronted with an odd scene. He had heard noises, had known that someone was in the parlor, but he had not expected the sheer numbers. Nearly half of those who had remained were gathered inside, and yet they were nearly silent.

It wasn’t hard to find Maglor. Every eye in the room was on him.

The Feanorian sat on the floor by the fire, soaked through to the skin and shivering. “Back to work,” Aulë said, and they understood their dismissal, hurrying from the room as their leader crossed it.

Maglor looked up as he knelt beside him. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”

“That’s all anyone’s been able to get out of him.” He turned to look at Yavanna as she strode into the room, a steaming mug in her hands and a set of clothes thrown over her shoulder. To Maglor she said, with a scolding tone, “I told you to get out of that.”

Without a word Maglor began undressing, starting with the button on his cloak and then pulling off his tunic, letting both fall to the ground carelessly.

She passed him the clothes, saying, “You left these here on your last visit and I imagine they still fit you.”

Maglor paused only momentarily at her words, then continued changing. Aulë finally peeled his eyes back from him, offering the elf a hint of privacy, and met Yavanna’s worried eyes.

_He’s thin_, her voice murmured in his mind. _He’s never been thin._

Maglor had always carried more weight than most elves, but the man sitting beside him more closely resembled a stick than even a healthy elf.

_He’s been alone,_ Aulë replied.

Before Yavanna could reply something in her expression shifted. Her eyes widened momentarily in shock, then welled with pity. Aulë turned quickly to see what had changed, but Maglor explained it for him.

Staring at his feet, which he had just removed from his boots, he said. “I’m bleeding.” He seemed as surprised as Yavanna had been.

No one moved as the coppery tang of blood filled the air.

Finally, Yavanna broke the silence, “You _walked_ from Formenos?”

Maglor blinked, as though the thought hadn’t occurred to him. “I think,” he said finally. “I ran too. Possibly.”

_He’s in shock_, Yavanna’s mind supplied. _I’m going for Lady Estë. _She turned and hurried from the room. Maglor didn’t seem to register her departure.

_One of her Maia, _Aule sent to her. _Another Vala might frighten him_.

In the time it took for Aulë and Yavanna to process his injuries, Maglor had managed to finish changing, although water from his hair was quickly soaking into the new clothes. He was still holding the socks she had brought him in his hands, as though afraid of putting them on over the blisters.

Aulë grabbed a blanket from beside the fire, throwing it over Maglor and then pulling at his hair until it laid on top of the blanket, letting it absorb the water. He nodded to the socks in Maglor’s hands, “Put those on. We need to keep the wounds clean.”

Once he had done as instructed, Aulë helped him to his feet and then into a chair. His eyes still seemed vacant, and his hands struggled to grasp the mug of warm tea Aulë offered him.

“What happened?” The smith asked once he was settled.

“Father struck me.”

When Aulë jumped in surprise, Maglor tilted his head. “At Alqualonde,” he explained. “Was that not what you meant?”

A part of Aulë wanted to push him for more details, to finally uncover the truth as to why he alone had turned back. No one else had seemed to know, and although Aulë was certain there were rumors flying, he had avoided them. But it was neither the time nor the place for that.

“No, Kanafinwe,” he said gently. “At Formenos.”

His shoulders curled inward. “It burned.”

Aulë tried to reason a cause. Perhaps he had tried cooking something? He couldn’t imagine Maglor as much of a chef but left to his own devices, he must have done something for food. “Was it an accident?” 

“No.”

Before Aulë could press him for more questions Yavanna returned, a Maia of Lorien in tow. Somewhat reluctantly Aulë stepped back and allowed her to care for Maglor. The minstrel looked once at Aulë, and when he received a nod of approval, relaxed into her care.

Turning his back on the fire and the Feanorian, he looked at Yavanna. _The fire wasn’t an accident._

She raised an eyebrow. _Did he do it?_

_He didn’t say. _Aulë couldn’t imagine Maglor burning anything to the ground, but a year ago, he would have said he couldn’t have imagined Maglor participating in a slaughter.

Unable to stand the speculation any longer, Aulë strode from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Minastan means "smith of the tower" and I stole it from one of the kings of Gondor. In my defense, they had to have gotten it from somewhere. 
> 
> I stand by my [chubby Maglor headcanon](https://archiveofourown.org/works/3266552) and I don't care what anyone has to say about it.
> 
> And yes, if you look at a map, walking from Formenos to Aule's Mansions is the dumbest thing Maglor could have done. He went past literally everyone.


	3. Chapter 3

Curumo returned before the healer finished her work. “Lady Nerdanel wishes to be kept informed,” he said simply.

Aulë nodded, leaning against the porch railing. It was getting worn, he noted, it would need replacing soon. Perhaps Yavanna could ask her vines to weave them a living boundary, one that would last for as long as the plant lived.

When Aulë remained lost in thought, Curumo said, “The fire was started with an accelerant.”

“Did he start it?” He was half afraid to ask, although he wasn’t certain he cared. What did it matter if Maglor had burned Formenos? Perhaps he had grown to hate it. Or the memories that had come with it had been too much.

_Father slapped me, _Maglor had said. What did that mean exactly?

“No,” Curumo said, brushing off his robes. “I borrowed a friend who serves Lord Orome. Whoever started the fire came from the woods to the south east.”

“From Alqualonde.”

“It’s possible.”

It was highly probable. If anyone were to want the Feanorian dead, wounded, or merely distressed it would be one of the survivors of the massacre. “Thank you,” Aulë said. Curumo seemed to understand that it was a dismissal.

Aulë lost track of how long he stood on the porch waiting. It the rain finally began to lighten, although it did not bring any more light, even as the clouds cleared.

“My lord.” The hearer’s voice pulled him from his gloomy thoughts.

“How is he?”

He didn’t recognize the Maia, although that wasn’t unusual. There were enough of them wandering about that he doubted anyone, except for perhaps Manwe, knew all of them. “His body will heal.”

The smith waited for her to elaborate, but she didn’t, instead seeming to think deeply on her words. “And his mind?” he pressed.

She let out a sigh, clearly having hoped he wouldn’t ask. “He is in shock,” she said carefully. “It seems he has been through a great deal. It… unraveled him.”

Aulë couldn’t say he was surprised. “But he will live?”

A nod. Then, “My lord, if I may-”

“You may.”

“I was there. At Alqualonde. After the battle.”

“It wasn’t a battle,” Aulë corrected her gently. “It was a massacre. I do not pretend he hasn’t done horrible things.” But everyone made mistakes. He knew that better than most.

She nodded. “One of the men I treated had seen him. During…. and after.”

Aulë raised an eyebrow.

“He had lost a lot of blood - the fisherman - but he kept talking about him. He seemed to believe Kanafinwe had died.”

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“He thought that what he saw after the battle was a houseless spirit. He seemed to believe he was going to be haunted.”

“When we left Alqualonde, I went looking for him in Formenos.” She pulled at the sleeves of her robes as she thought over her next words. “Everyone deserves healing, and I thought it was rather sad that he was all alone.”

“The windows and doors were sealed.”

She smiled slightly. “Has that ever stopped an Ainu?” But her smile faded. “I wasn’t corporeal when I entered the house. But he seemed to know I was there. And do you know what he asked me?”

“I cannot imagine.”

“If I had any news of Arda.” She tapped her foot against the floor. “I told him, I had only heard rumors-”

“No.” Aulë shut his eyes. He didn’t need to hear this.

“I thought it would be best if he at least knew. And - foolishly - I thought that, at least if it came from me, I would be able to help him.”

“You told him about his father and brother?”

“Brothers.”

“Brothers?”

She seemed to pale. Although, given that her skin was already nearly translucent, it could have been his imagination. “I told him of Maitimo’s capture… and Ambarto’s death.”

He stilled. “I- I had not been made aware of that.”

“He was still aboard the swan-ships when they burned them. I cannot say if they were aware or not.”

Aulë swore and she winced, clearly unused to the more laid back attitudes of his mansions. “Is there no end to the troubles they bring on themselves?”

She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to. They both knew the answer.

“That was why I came when Lady Yavanna asked for a healer. I could not help him then, he ordered me from his house.”

“Did he recognize you?” Aulë nodded to the door. “Here?”

“Yes. He thanked me for being honest with him. That was all I could get him to say.”

“These… rumors,” he said after a moment, “regarding Feanor, Maedhros, and Ambarto. How substantial are they?”

“I do not go to Mandos halls,” she said. “But I have spoken to those of his Maia who have seen their spirits. The exact manner of their deaths I cannot confirm.” 

He was silent for a moment, then he said, “Thank you.”

She offered another smile. “I will come if you summon me. If he has need of me, ask for Ceutaisë and I will come.” And then she was gone.

Aulë glared at the air where she had been, wondering if she had taken lessons in theatrics from Curumo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ceutaisë - I made up this name. It’s a combination of “ceuta” meaning ‘refresh’ and ‘aisë’ meaning ‘comfort’


	4. Chapter 4

Maglor had been taken to a room and left to rest, but, as he had expected, there was a surprising number of people milling about in the hall outside, trying to act as though they belonged there.

One sharp look from Aulë was enough to send them all fleeing.

He stepped into Maglor’s room, surprised to see that the minstrel was sitting up, staring out his window. “Thank you,” Maglor said softly as he approached. “For everything. I won’t trouble you for long.”

“I insist that you continue to trouble me,” Aulë objected. “Although you are hardly much trouble.”

“I am a kinslayer,” Maglor said softly, toying with the blanket. “I am nothing but trouble.”

“I cannot say I am not-” he paused, not certain what to say. He didn’t want to frightened Maglor, not in his current state, but he wasn’t sure what else to say. Finally, he said, “I am not _pleased_, Kanafinwe. But it is not my place to judge.”

“Then whose place is it?”

Aulë shrugged. “Whoever decides they wish to judge you can take the matter up with me.”

Maglor glanced at him with a raised eyebrow.

“I’m not going to let just anyone trouble you,” the smith explained. “We don’t need another house burning down.”

Maglor stiffened. “And that is why I cannot stay,” he said quietly. “I cannot put your home in danger, my lord.”

Aulë shook his head. “You’ve never called me that before, don’t start now.” He stepped closer, although the ceiling in the room was low enough he had to watch his head. “If anyone wishes to burn down my home - well,” he chuckled, “I would almost like to see them try.”

It was good to see that Maglor was talking again. He could still tell there was something not quite right, as though Maglor’s brain was still slightly frazzled, but he seemed far more aware of himself than before.

“I… also might enjoy that,” the singer confessed.

Aulë’s face grew serious. “Did you see who did it?”

“Yes.” Maglor glanced at him, taking in his expression. “It was no one I knew and I don’t wish to find them.”

“They tried to kill you.”

“They only wanted to scare me.”

“Did they?”

Maglor shrugged. “I’m here, am I not?”

“And as I have told you, you are welcome to stay. I will not keep you here, but please, speak with me before you depart, if you intend to.”

“I will.”

“Now you should rest, I’ve troubled you enough already.”

Maglor looked as though he was going to insist that Aulë could never be troublesome, but the smith slipped from the room before he could.

* * *

Hours passed before he heard anything from Maglor. Aulë checked on the progress on the vessels for their light, pleased to see that everything was running smoothly.

Then he returned to check on Maglor.

The minstrel was in the hall just outside of his room, but he was leaning heavily on a table, his face screwed up in pain. “I may have overestimated my walking ability,” he confessed.

Aulë shook his head but helped him back to his bed anyway. Maglor slumped back against the pillows with a moan. “I don’t like being useless,” he muttered.

“You are not useless. You are invalid.”

“Is that better?”

“I think it is.” Words were troublesome. Judging by Maglor's face, he'd picked the wrong ones. Aulë watched him thoughtfully. Seeming aware of his concentration, Maglor raised an eyebrow. “Last night you told me something that I found troubling," the smith said finally.

Maglor looked away. “I told you my father struck me.”

“I believed _slapped_ was the word you used.”

“It may have been.” He picked at a loose thread in his blanket. “That is why I came back. I-” his voice choked, as though tears had risen in his throat. “I told him it was a mistake, slaughtering so many innocents. And he struck me.”

Aulë couldn’t think of anything to say, but thankfully, he didn’t have to. Maglor wasn’t finished. “I believe he intended to kill me.” He laughed, but there was no amusement in his tone. “He killed Ambarto so I should not be surprised.”

“Why would you think he would kill you?”

Maglor looked up, his face passive. “Because he lifted his sword and stepped toward me. He did not stop until Nelyo stepped in between us.” He looked back at his hands. “And then Nelyo told me I ought to apologize to father.” He snorted. “_Apologize_ for him trying to kill me.” Maglor almost sounded mad. His voice rose several octaves and his eyes grew wide as he told the tale.

“Kanafinwë-”

“I told him that I hoped they would all _burn_. And then I ran.” His voice caught. The tears that had been hidden in his voice slid down his cheeks. “And they did burn, didn’t they?”

With a jolt, Aulë realized Maglor blamed himself. “You did not kill them, Kanafinwë.”

“No?” He looked up, eyes flashing. “If I had been there-”

“What?” His voice was louder than before, firmer. Maglor shut his mouth swiftly. “What would you have done? Would you have realized - when no one else did - that your brother remained on the boat? Would you have single-handedly stopped an onslaught of balrogs? Would Nelyafinwë have allowed you to treat with the enemy in his place?”

“I-” his voice faltered. “I would have _tried_.”

“I doubt you would have succeeded.” He didn’t mean for it to be cruel. Just truthful, but Maglor’s shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Perhaps you are right.”

Aulë couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was not a caregiver. He was not used to offering comfort. “I am always willing to talk, Kanafinwë,” he said after a pause. “If that is what you wish.”

“You are building vessels for the light,” Maglor said quietly. “I think that is far more important than myself. I can handle myself for now.” He looked up at Aulë and offered him a smile. “I doubt either of us is going anywhere, and perhaps the light can help my family.”


	5. Chapter 5

Maglor kept out of their way over the following days, although soon he was limping slowly around the house. No one seemed to want to speak with him, only stare, but he kept his head stubbornly high and made no attempt to speak with anyone else either.

As Maglor had predicted, Aulë found himself called away by other, more important things. The vessels for the light needed to be examined and someone swore they saw one of Ungoliant’s spawn in the woods (it turned out to be only a large deer).

He even found himself invited to visit Manwë, although that seemed to be mostly for the purpose of explaining why Maglor was living with him. The King of Airs didn’t seem upset, only slightly surprised.

“It is best this way,” Manwë said, once Aulë had explained what he knew. “I had feared what would become of him, alone in the woods.”

“I rarely question your judgment-”

“Only whenever I see you,” Manwë replied, a soft smile on his lips. It was the first emotion Aulë had seen him allow since Melkor’s betrayal.

“Which is seldom,” the smith reminded him, before continuing on with his point, “And yet I must know: why did you leave him?”

“I suppose I hadn’t thought of what to do with him.” Manwë watched a bird swoop past them. His palace was full of them, even inside. “I hadn’t considered that you might open your home to him.”

“What else would I have done?”

Manwë was silent for a long time. When he spoke, his voice was filled with sadness. “You counseled me not to trust my brother. And yet, had it been Mairon who had been in captivity, you would have dogged me relentlessly to offer him another chance. You spoke for Ossë when even Ulmo would not. Why?”

Aulë thought for a moment. “I always tell my pupils to move on. If they make a mistake, I urge them to correct it, when possible, or to move on when it cannot be corrected. Always, I implore them to learn from their mistakes.” He sighed, watching as a bird swooped to land on Manwë’s shoulder. “I have not seen Mairon since the destruction of the lamps, I cannot judge if he made a simple mistake, or if he is beyond my help. So yes, I would offer him atonement. I can forgive, I can move on. But I do not forget. I would watch him, guard him. And if I could no longer trust him, return him to his sentence.”

“We saw no threat from my brother.”

“Feanor did.”

Manwë stilled.

“Perhaps I would not see the darkness in Mairon. Perhaps I would trust him too much. But I would like to suppose, that my wife and friends would warn me, and I would hope that I would heed their counsel. But I cannot be sure.”

Manwë ran a finger down the plumage of the bird on his shoulder. “But Kanafinwë is not Mairon. Nor is he Ossë. So tell me, why assist the kinslayer?”

“When I spoke for Ossë, it was out of a selfish hope that Mairon might understand I would grant him leniency and understanding.”

“I doubt Mairon cares if you assist Kanafinwë.” His words could have been cruel if taken at face value, but more than anything, he sounded interested.

“I doubt that as well,” Aulë replied. “But I find that I care.” He shrugged. “He has made a mistake and one that I imagine he will regret to the end of his days. I will not leave him to face that burden alone.”

Manwë seemed content with that answer, and their conversation shifted onto other topics. When Aulë returned to his home, he was almost surprised to find that Maglor was not in the house. No one seemed to know where he was, although he did finally find someone who said Maglor had gone down the path that led to the ocean.

He found Maglor sitting with his shoes beside him, his feet dangling in the water. Maglor glanced over his shoulder as he approached, and nodded in greeting. Starlight reflected on the water, and in the elf’s hair, giving it a peaceful, tranquil appearance. But Maglor’s face was far from peaceful.

“They say my uncle could see the fires from the far shore and knew that he had been betrayed.”

“They say many things, Kanafinwë, I doubt they are all true.” Perhaps he should have worried more about what rumors might be spreading. He stepped forward and sat beside Maglor, deciding to copy him and remove his shoes, letting his feet trail in the cool water.

“Why would he follow him? My father made no secret of his hatred for him. He should have turned back, with Arafinwë.” Maglor tossed a stone, watching as it sunk beneath the waves. “He’s a better relative than I am.”

“Or a bigger fool.”

For a long time, Maglor was quiet. “I heard Lord Manwë summoned you.” He stared across the water, jaw set. “If I have caused you any trouble-”

No wonder he had made his way to the water, Aulë thought. It was clear he expected to be run away, and he hadn’t wanted to cause a scene in front of anyone else. “I have told you, you are no trouble.” Maglor still seemed uneasy, so the smith said, “He worries for you.”

“He should worry for my family, or at the very least, worry about what his brother will do.” As soon as he’d spoken, Maglor seemed to regret it. He dropped his head, looking down at his hands and murmuring, “Forgive me, my lord, I spoke out of turn.”

Aulë reached over and gently caught Maglor’s chin, lifting his head to meet his eyes. “I will not ask you to forsake your family, nor will I punish you when you speak out of fear for them.”

“Thank you,” his voice cracked as though he was fighting tears and he pulled away.

They both returned to watching the water, letting the soft rumble of the waves soothe away their worries.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finarfin decidedly does NOT want the crown. Unfortunately for him, neither does Maglor.

He had sent word that Nerdanel should not attempt to visit her son, but he hadn’t sent word that Finarfin should not try to visit his nephew.

They shouldn’t have been surprised when the King of the Noldor turned up, looking for Maglor, and yet Aulë find himself irritated. Finarfin himself looked horrible, and the smith could not for the life of him imagine what he would want from Maglor, but he wasn’t going to ban him. That would only lead to trouble since he’d already traveled to them.

So he invited the king into his halls and sent for Maglor.

Maglor was still limping from his blisters, and still thin from his time alone, so Aulë couldn’t imagine what Finarfin thought when he appeared in the doorway, looking more like a wraith than a living elf.

He bowed his head and murmured, “Uncle.”

“Kanafinwë.” It was hard to tell if Finarfin was relieved or not, but he didn’t offer a smile. Aulë had never known Finwë’s youngest well, but he remembered him as a cheerful elf (not that he was surprised that it had changed, given everything that had happened).

“I will take my leave,” he said and slipped from the room.

Maglor watched the Vala go, then turned back to his uncle, limping to sit in a chair near him.

“When are you returning to Tirion?” Finarfin asked after a pause, leaning forward slightly.

Maglor stilled. “Returning?” he asked, hesitantly. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead.” 

“You are the rightful king,” his uncle reminded him.

Maglor froze. “You are Finwë’s son.”

“That is not how the line of succession works, nephew. It passes to Feanor’s eldest son, and since Maitimo is not here, that is you.”

Maglor picked at a thread on his sleeve, not meeting his uncle’s gaze. He didn’t want to leave the Mansions of Aulë, not yet at any rate, and when he did leave, he certainly didn’t intend to return to Tirion and pick up the crown. “I was never trained for such things,” he said finally.

“And you think I was?” Finarfin demanded. “I was never meant to inherit anything!”

“I don’t want the crown.”

Finarfin leaned forward, looking angrier than he had before. “Neither do I.”

Glancing over his shoulder, Maglor wondered how long it would take for Aulë to come if he called for him. It was childish, but a part of him just wanted the smith to run off his uncle. But he couldn’t let the Vala fight all his battles, so he leaned back in his chair. “I will not take the crown.”

“It is your duty.”

“I don’t give a damn.” He looked up finally, meeting Finarfin’s eyes. “Do I look like a king to you, uncle? Do you know how I came to be here? Because I don’t.” He swallowed. “I can’t tell you how I got here. I don’t remember it. I remember my house burning. I remember fleeing. And then I was here, begging to be let in.”

“You should have come to Tirion.” For a moment Finarfin had looked almost concerned, but then his face hardened and he said, “you walked straight past us on your little jaunt.”

“Jaunt?” Maglor hissed. “If I had gone to Tirion would you have waited until I could remember my own name before you put the crown on my head? Or would I have woken from my shock as the king?”

“I would never take advantage of you-" Finarfin began, but Maglor cut him off. 

“You’re trying right now.”

For a moment they glared at each other, neither one willing to back down.

Finarfin tried a different approach, saying, “I lost my children, Kanafinwë. You cannot understand the pain-”

“I lost my brothers!” Maglor shouted, shoving himself to his feet. “And they swore some damnable oath and I am likely to never see them again. At least your children may one day return to you.”

They both froze, looking at the door as if expecting Aulë to burst in to see what the shouting was about. When he didn’t, they resumed glowering at one another.

“You will not make me king,” Maglor said, folding his arms over his chest. “Not now. Not ever.”

Finarfin leaned back, closing his eyes in defeat. “Very well,” he said finally. “But I would like you to come to Tirion-”

“No.”

“Listen to me,” he said firmly. “There are enough that want you on the throne that you need to make some sort of formal appearance, you need to officially renounce your claim.”

“I can do that in writing.”

“You can do it in person.”

“I could,” Maglor admitted. “But I won’t.” He pushed himself to his feet, wincing. “Have a good day, uncle,” he said sharply and limped from the room.

Aulë hadn’t been far and had heard enough of the shouting that he’d returned closer, but after deciding there was no imminent threat, he’d waited for them to settle things themselves. He couldn’t fix everyone’s problems, even if he tried. Particularly where kings and titles were concerned, it was dangerous for a Vala to intervene at all.

Maglor found him not long after leaving Finarfin, and he still appeared stressed. “He wanted me to be the king,” he said to Aulë’s questioning glance.

“What do you wish?”

“To remain here,” he said, then quickly added, “if you would allow it.” 

“I would if that is your wish.”

“I do not mean to trouble you.”

“The only thing about you that troubles me, is your continued determination to tell me you don’t wish to be a burden.” He glanced out the window to where he could see Finarfin in the yard, meeting back up with his escort. “Does your uncle respect your wishes?”

“He is not happy about it, but I believe so.”


End file.
